Way of the Gun (9781101597804) (7 page)

Further distressed over this recent turn of events, he was not sure what he should do. In that moment, however, he decided it was time to pick between right and wrong, and he knew he sure as hell couldn't side with Red Shirt and his two murderers. Even with his mind made up, he couldn't bring himself to take the coward's way and start shooting them in the back. Trying to decide, he waited too long for that opportunity, anyway, for they were already fading into the night. Suddenly he saw his best course of action. He ran to his horse and sprang into the saddle. Raising his rifle, he fired three quick shots into the air, then guided his horse through the trees at a fast lope, riding in a wide circle, thinking to come up from behind the prospectors' camp.

The three warning shots brought the campers out of their bedrolls, reaching for their weapons. “Get to the creek bank!” Jonah Thompson yelled. “Nancy! Keep down behind that bank!” He knew he didn't have to tell his brother what to do; Frank was already running to the creek, his rifle in hand. The first thought by both brothers was
Indians
.

Some fifty yards back in the pines, there was equal confusion over the sudden rifle shots. “What the hell?” Red Shirt roared when startled by the shattering of the silence. The three of them dived for cover, thinking the shots were meant for them. “That son of a bitch . . . ,” he started, but left unfinished as he strained to see behind them, halfway expecting more shots to come.

“What the hell's he doin'?” Tice exclaimed, thinking it an accident, before realizing, had that been so, there would have been one shot only.

“The sneaky bastard's warnin' them,” Red Shirt decided. “I knew I couldn't trust him.”

“Well, what are we gonna do now?” Swann asked while nervously straining to see through the trees behind them.

“Just sit tight right here,” Red Shirt ordered, his alarm having been replaced by red-hot anger. “I'm goin' back to take care of that sneaky son of a bitch. I want his scalp on my scalp stick.” He was off then, moving stealthily through the trees. The woods became quiet again, as Tice and Swann were left to watch for signs of Carson. In a short time, they heard Red Shirt's voice telling them to hold their fire. “He took off,” he told them. “His horse is gone.”

“What about our horses?” Tice asked.

“They're all right. He just hightailed it outta here,” Red Shirt said. “I'll run across him one of these days. Then he'll pay up for this.”

“Whaddaya think we oughta do now?” Swann asked.

“Nothin's changed,” Red Shirt answered. “We're gonna take whatever they've got in that camp.”

“If you're thinkin' 'bout chargin' in there blazin' away,” Tice said, “I ain't for it. Them folks has had time to get ready to give us plenty of lead.”

Red Shirt paused to give that some thought. Tice was probably right, he decided. They might be running into a buzz saw. “We'll try to talk our way in first.” That sounded better to Tice and Swann, so they followed Red Shirt's lead and worked their way in closer. “Hello the camp,” Red Shirt called out. “We're peaceful folk—didn't mean to scare you back there—rifle went off when I was puttin' it away—damn near shot myself in the foot—don't wanna cause no harm to anybody. Like I said, we're peaceful, just lookin' to maybe share some coffee.” All the while, the three predators scanned the clearing before the creek, trying to locate their targets.

“Yonder's one of 'em,” Tice whispered when he caught a slight movement along the rim of the creek bank. “They're holed up under the bank.”

“Yeah,” Red Shirt said when he looked where Tice pointed. “They're dug in pretty good.” He knew they had the advantage if he decided to risk charging into them. “Tell you what,” he called out again, “we got off on the wrong foot. Whaddaya say we both come out and meet in the middle of the clearing?”

“I don't think so,” Jonah called back from the creek. “I think it best if you just go on down the creek somewhere and find your own place to camp.”

“Mister, if we was up to anythin' bad, we'da already snuck up on you,” Red Shirt tried one more time. “We was just tryin' to be neighborly. So whaddaya say, just me and you to talk it over?”

Jonah was not a fool, and he had had enough. “Mister,” he yelled back, “you can go to hell.”

“Damn you,” Red Shirt cursed, fully angry now, more so with Carson than with his intended victims. “We've got you outnumbered, and we can keep you pinned down in that creek till the damn thing dries up!”

“He might be right,” Jonah told Frank. “But I don't think we've got any choice but to fight them.” With that resolve, he laid his rifle on the rim of the bank and fired a shot in the direction of the man's voice. It was immediately answered by shots from three rifles. The skirmish continued for several minutes with both sides firing blindly in the dark, with no distinguishable targets other than the occasional muzzle flash. Impatient with the lack of any gain, Tice decided to make a run for a bush-covered mound a dozen yards closer, but at an angle that he thought might give him a look at a target. Running in a low crouch, he left the protection of the tree he had been shooting from. Halfway to the mound, a shot rang out and he tumbled to the ground, mortally wounded.

“Good shot, Frank,” Jonah said.

Puzzled, Frank answered, “I didn't shoot him. I thought you shot him.”

“It wasn't my shot,” Jonah said. They both turned to look at Nancy, who was still huddled under the brow of the low creek bank. There was no need to ask if she had killed him. “They've gotten around behind us,” Jonah exclaimed. “They hit one of their own men.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Frank replied. “It would have been one helluva poor shot, and how come he didn't keep shooting?”

“Damned if I know,” Jonah replied while looking nervously behind him now, halfway expecting a second shot at any moment.

Back in the trees, Swann called out, “Tice! You all right?” But the dark lump lying still between the pines and the bushy mound did not respond. “They got Tice!” Swann exclaimed excitedly to Red Shirt. “He ain't movin'.”

“He shoulda stayed behind that tree,” Red Shirt replied, angry enough at the way things were going to pump five shots at the creek as rapidly as he could pull the trigger and rechamber another cartridge. His barrage ended abruptly when a rifle slug kicked up dirt near his foot. Jumping quickly back behind a tree, he proclaimed, “That shot came from that slope behind those people!” It didn't take but a moment then to realize that Carson had not run as he had first thought. “That son of a bitch has joined up with 'em.”

“What the hell would he do that for?” Swann asked, truly puzzled.

“'Cause he's a no-account, double-dealin' son of a bitch,” Red Shirt hissed. The young pup had thoroughly wrecked what would have been an easy strike, and cost him one of his men. To add to his anger, he glanced over his shoulder to see a full moon climbing over the dark hills behind them. “Damn!” he cursed again, for soon the moon would melt away much of the deep shadow, making it more difficult to move in on the camp. “Pretty soon it's gonna be light as day between here and that creek. We've got to move up to where we can see what we're shootin' at.” He paused to decide the best way to approach them before directing Swann. “Slide on downstream a little ways and work your way back to the creek. I'll move upstream and we'll have 'em between us. We oughta root 'em outta there quick enough. Then we'll take care of Mr. Carson Ryan.”

Swann was not particularly fond of the idea of moving away from the large tree trunk he had taken cover behind, but he was reluctant to tell Red Shirt no, so he started to inch away to another tree to his right. “And, damn it, Swann,” Red Shirt called after him, “be careful you don't shoot me.”

Being a more cautious man than his simple companion, Red Shirt remained where he was until Swann safely reached the second tree. Then he moved slowly away from his cover and crawled to a low mound a few yards away, where he stopped and waited for Swann to leave the second tree and head quickly for a clump of small pines closer to the creek. Swann was a few steps away from safety when the rifle on the slope spoke once more, causing him to reel awkwardly before collapsing to the ground. Red Shirt froze. Cursing himself for not killing Carson when they first came upon him, he decided not to test the young man's marksmanship any further. So far, it had proven too deadly to challenge.
There will be other times, my young friend,
he promised himself as he withdrew to the trees once more. Safely behind a tree trunk again, he lingered there for a few moments more, reluctant to leave Tice's and Swann's weapons behind. Both men had carried good Winchester rifles and Colt pistols, weapons he could sell, but he knew he was asking for the same ticket to hell they had purchased if he ventured out into the clearing.
Damn!
He swore to think of leaving valuable weapons for Carson to gather up and make a profit on.
That young coyote pup,
he swore to himself, and vowed to cut his heart out. In spite of his lust for revenge, he could not risk his body in the now moonlit clearing, knowing that he would be an easy target.

Backing carefully away from the tree protecting him, he moved back through the pines to the horses, thankful that Carson had not thought to drive them off. He couldn't say that he would miss Tice or Swann, although they had been useful at times. At least he had gained two good horses and a couple of saddles. It was hard to decide what to do at this point, torn as he was between two choices. His passion to avenge the betrayal by Carson caused him to be inclined to continue to stalk him, looking for a chance to kill him. The downside to this plan was the inconvenience of herding a string of extra horses, and he was reluctant to set them free. In the end, he decided to return to Crazy Jack's in hopes of selling the horses, extra riding gear, and weapons. Another thing he had to consider was the fact that he was now outnumbered four to one, if the woman could handle a gun, and he never liked being on the low end of odds like those. He scowled and cursed again before finally withdrawing, still reluctant to swallow his bitter loss and slink off into the night.

Chapter 5

Not sure what was happening, Jonah Thompson moved a few feet closer to his brother, who was straining to search the low ridge behind them. “See anything back there?” he asked.

“No,” Frank replied without taking his eyes off the dark ridge, “not a thing. You think it's a cavalry patrol or something?” They had at first thought the shots came from a member of the party who had hailed them from the edge of the pines, and the shot had accidentally killed one of their own. But when the second shot was fired, killing another of the aggressors, they knew it was no accident. The question was who, and what was their motive? Once the rifleman had halted the attack, would he, or they, if there was more than one, then begin to turn his weapon on the three of them? “You think maybe it's Indians?”

Harboring the same thoughts that puzzled Frank's mind, Jonah said, “Either we've got a guardian angel, come to take care of us, or we're next on his list. But damned if I know which.” He turned his head toward the edge of the creek bank. “You all right down there, Nancy?”

“I'm all right,” Nancy replied, “but if I could make myself into a tighter ball, I'd be better.” She paused a moment, then asked, “What are we gonna do?”

Frank looked at Jonah then. “What
are
we gonna do?”

“I don't know,” Jonah answered. “Right now I'm afraid to stick my nose outta this creek.” He paused then, knowing his younger brother and sister-in-law were looking to him to make the decision. “I reckon it's best not to risk getting shot. I don't see what we can do but sit right where we are and keep our eyes open. It's some time yet before daylight. Maybe then we can tell more about what's going on. If you've got a better idea, I'd like to hear it.”

Frank was just about to say that he had nothing better to offer when the voice came from the scrubby pines at the base of the ridge. “Hello the camp. Are you folks all right?”

Startled, both brothers jumped, then craned their necks in an effort to see from where the call had originated. “Keep your eyes on those trees in front of us,” Jonah warned. “It might be a trick.” Then he called out, “Yeah, we're all right. Who are you? Are you part of that gang?”

“My name's Carson Ryan. I'm not part of any gang. There were three of them outlaws, but now there ain't but one, but he's the dangerous one.” He waited a few moments to see if they were going to tell him to come on in. When they didn't, he asked, “All right if I come into your camp?”

“Whaddaya think, Frank?” Jonah asked.

“Well, he did shoot two of those outlaws and probably saved our bacon. I guess we can trust him, but keep your rifle handy and we'll keep our eyes open. The first hint of trouble from him and we'll cut him down. All right?” Frank nodded. “All right,” Jonah called. “Come on in.” Frank took a few steps closer to his wife to take a protective stance over her. They waited. Then after a few moments, a tall strapping figure walked out of the pine shadows leading a horse.

“Mister,” Jonah said, “you're walking awful casual-like across that clearing. Ain't you afraid you'll get shot?”

“He's gone,” Carson replied.

“What makes you think that?” Jonah asked.

“I saw him from the ridge back there, leading three horses toward the river. I can't say for sure that he won't be back for another try, but I wouldn't be surprised if he figures it better to get rid of the horses first. He knows now that it's just one of him against three of us.” He stopped short of the fire that had been abandoned when the first shots rang out. “Any coffee to spare in that pot there?”

“What?” Jonah blurted, still confused by the sudden appearance of the lone rifleman. “Coffee?” he echoed, and glanced quickly at Frank to see if he had any objection.

“I think you certainly earned it,” Nancy interrupted Jonah, who seemed to be having trouble with the proper response. “I'm sure we can spare some for someone who appears to have saved us from being murdered. If there's none left, I'll gladly make you a fresh pot.”

“I'd appreciate it, ma'am,” Carson said.

“Sure!” Frank suddenly bellowed after his wife put the situation in proper perspective. “Nancy's right, you damn sure earned it, and something to eat to go with it.” He, like Jonah, had been befuddled by the unexpected help that had led to the routing of the outlaws attacking them.

“I'd settle for the cup of coffee,” Carson said. “There's a few more things to take care of before I can think about eatin'.” He was thinking of the bodies of Swann and Tice lying on the other side of the creek, and the weapons and ammunition on them. “I'm gonna take a look in that bunch of pines, just to make sure Red Shirt didn't double back, and I'll drag those two bodies out of the clearin'. Ain't no use for the lady to have to look at 'em when the sun comes up.”

“We can help you with that,” Frank immediately offered.

“Did you say Red Shirt?” Jonah asked. Carson nodded. Jonah turned to his brother then. “Ain't that the name of that Indian who was raiding some of the claims near Custer? It was something like that, Red Shirt, or Red Wolf, or something. He was raiding the small claims, murdering the miners, scalping them.” He turned back to Carson then. “Are you saying that's the same one who tried to attack us?”

“It's the same man,” Carson replied.

“Well, glory be,” Jonah exclaimed, “I'm sure glad you came along when you did. How'd you happen to be here?”

Carson thought a moment before answering. Maybe it might not be best to tell them the truth, that he didn't just happen along, that he had arrived with them. “Just luck, I reckon. I ain't really headin' on any certain trail, just ridin' in the general direction of Montana.”

“Well, friend,” Frank chimed in, “you picked the right trail as far as we're concerned, and we're beholdin' to you.” He paused when Nancy stepped up to hand Carson his cup of coffee. Then realizing it was overdue, he introduced his party. “My name's Frank Thompson. The pretty one there is my wife, Nancy. The ugly one is my brother, Jonah. Welcome to our camp.”

“Thank you,” Carson said. “My name's Carson. . . .” He paused when it struck him that he was still a wanted man, and maybe it would not be a good idea to tell them his last name. “Carson,” he repeated, “John Carson.”

“Well, pleased to meet you, John,” Jonah said. “I thought you said something else when you first came up, but to tell you the truth, my mind was kinda spinning at the time.”

“Sometimes I guess I mumble too much,” Carson said. No one seemed to make anything of the misunderstanding, judging by the expressions on the faces of Nancy and Frank, so he drank his coffee, then started to cross over the creek.

“We'll help you with those bodies,” Frank volunteered again.

“Might be better if you let me take a look around over there first,” Carson replied, “just in case. I'll give you a holler when I'm sure I wasn't wrong about them all bein' gone.” He stepped up in the saddle, having no actual concern about anyone's safety at this point. His real purpose was to strip the bodies of weapons and ammunition. When he had been arrested, he had lost everything he owned, so he wanted to make sure he had plenty of ammunition for his Winchester, and hoped to trade the other weapons for supplies he was now without.

Frank shrugged. “All right, just give a holler when you're ready.”

The bodies were lying approximately thirty yards apart. He dismounted when he came to the first one. It was Ed Tice. Looking as irritable and dyspeptic in death as he had looked when alive, Tice caused no feelings of guilt in Carson's mind. The man had held no value for the lives of other human beings, male or female. Carson relieved him of his rifle and handgun and pulled a cartridge belt from his body. He was not interested in anything to be found in his pockets other than the small amount of cash. He then led his horse over to Orville Swann's corpse.

Looking down at the relaxed features of the simple man, Carson felt the first hint of regret, and it struck him only then that he had killed two men. It could be easy to justify and say that he had done the world a favor, maybe even have saved lives that might have been their future victims. It did not cancel the fact that he had taken the lives of two human beings. That fact could never be reversed, no matter what happened from this point forward. Back on the darkened ridge, the two men had been nothing more than targets, and he hadn't hesitated a moment to knock them down. As he looked now at the results of his marksmanship, they conveyed a sobering thought for him to deal with. He, too, was a killer, a murderer. It was not something that he could take lightly, no matter the guilt of those he had killed.
It had to be done,
he thought.
Those innocent folks might have been killed if I hadn't
. There had been no choice left to him, and right or wrong, the boy in Carson Ryan also died on this fateful night.

He took Swann's weapons and cartridges and tied them on his saddlebags with Tice's.
I'll have to come up with a better way to carry these,
he thought as he led the bay toward the trees where the other horses had been. The packhorse would be sorely missed. He didn't know what he expected to find, but he scouted the woods anyway. When he was sure there was nothing there, he called out to Frank that it was all right to come for the bodies.

“Be right there,” Frank called back, but before crossing the creek, he paused to confer with Jonah and Nancy. “Whaddaya think about this fellow? You reckon he's got any tricks up his sleeve?” He was especially concerned for his wife, who was still visibly shaken by the events that had occurred on this night, even though she had done her best to appear in control.

“I don't know,” Jonah replied, making an effort to keep his voice down. “He just showed up out of the blue and says he ain't going anywhere in particular. But, hell, he seems like a nice enough young fellow. Wouldn't hurt to have him ride along with us, as handy as he is with that rifle, especially if that devil Red Shirt decides to get on our trail. That is, if he ain't got anything up his sleeve.”

“He's got an honest face,” Nancy remarked. “I think he'll be all right.”

“All right,” Jonah decided. “We'll see what he says about traveling with us. Heck, if he had murdering us in mind, he could have shot us in the creek when he was shooting those two in the clearing. Let's go, Frank.”

* * *

It didn't take long to dispose of the two bodies lying in the clearing. When they had been dragged away into the pines, the three men returned to the camp, where Nancy had built the fire up again. There were a few hours left before sunrise, but there was very little sleep in the waning darkness except for Carson. He was tired and still felt the weight of his conscience, but he was secure in the belief that he had nothing to fear from these people. As for the two brothers and the woman, sleep was out of the question. They had heard of the atrocities carried out by Indians and outlaws in the Black Hills, but this was their first exposure to it personally. The experience tended to convince them that extra protection would be a very good thing, considering the distance they had to cover. All three tried to sleep, but soon gave it up, Nancy first, and then one by one they joined her sitting by the fire where they talked in hushed tones until the sun rose above the distant hills. When Carson threw his blanket back and walked downstream to take care of nature's business, the Thompson family roused themselves to get ready for the new day.

While the men saddled the horses and loaded the packs, Nancy prepared breakfast. Nothing had been said to Carson concerning a parting of the ways, so Jonah broached the subject. “What are you figuring on doing now, John?”

His attention concentrated primarily on the cup of fresh coffee in his hand, Carson did not respond immediately, until he glanced up to find Jonah waiting for a response. Realizing then that the question had been aimed at him, he silently reminded himself that his new name was John. “I was just thinkin' about that. I reckon I'll just set out for Montana country again.”

“Sounds like we're all heading in the same direction,” Jonah commented. “It might work out for all of us if we traveled together. It would be handy to have you and that rifle of yours along with us, and it would be handy for you to have somebody to do your cooking. And three guns are better than two. That's for sure.” He gestured toward Carson's horse. “We've got two packhorses, so maybe we could carry some of those extra weapons for you, too. Whaddaya think?”

Carson glanced at Frank and Nancy, who had both paused to hear his response. From their expressions, he could see that they were in favor of it. “It might be a good thing at that,” he replied, “if you folks are sure you can put up with me.” He saw smiles on all three faces. “I don't have any supplies to amount to much. I lost my packhorse in a river crossin' on the way up from Texas,” he lied. “But I'm a pretty good hunter. Maybe I can supply us with some fresh meat.” He shrugged apologetically. “About those extra guns and such, I was fixin' to ask you if you needed to trade for any of 'em. There's a couple of good Winchester '73s there.”

“I might wanna take a look at one of 'em at that,” Frank said. “I got a better chance of hitting something with my shotgun, though.”

After a night that had threatened disaster, the Montana party set out with a new sense of optimism. Even though their new member was younger by half than Jonah, he presented himself as quite capable and obviously more experienced in life on horseback. As Nancy had fittingly expressed to her husband, “When John gets on his horse, it seems like the horse just becomes a part of him.” When they came to a small creek in the middle of the day, they decided it was a good place to rest the horses and fix the midday meal. While the men waited for Nancy to cook the bacon and beans, Carson took the opportunity to learn a little more about the party he was now riding with.